Live and Let Sigh

The ability to cling to something abstract is a great leveller.
 Like we cling to promises and hope, the vestiges of bourgeois existence.

Our heroes cling to morality, every fight a discovery along their path.
 They find strength, they journey on.
Our leaders shroud themselves in a lack of any discernible movement, battling a coup that is yet to begin, while our revolutionaries are clinging to their understanding of our good nature.

We read words, as if they’re not cryptic and ephemeral.
We liked songs, they turned out to be about massacres.

The shadows are getting longer, the light is just a taunting cascade of orange haze.
And then it is gone, leaving you in the afterglow of whatever you wish to see, whatever you want to reflect.

The weary shoulders on which this nation is built succumbs to find sustenance in promised salvation, and treasures its Gods.
The royalty is trying its commanders for treason, for they have dared to cross the moats.

The villains, their ends are our ends.
And no one knows what lies between then and now.

Someone must stop, change that abstract to tangible.
Look around us, this is not the world we were hoping to build.

The farmers are peasants. And people, jaded.
The stories are fables. And children, lost.
The music is autotune. And machines, happy.
The love is an agreement. And romance, prepubescent.
The protestors are dissidents. And polices, framed by water-cannon.
The neighbours are thieves. And fences, taller.
The light is ubiquitous. And darkness, pandemic.
Poverty is a sin. And power, wealth.
Shock is awe. And emotion, choreographed.

And here we are, waiting for change.
Lighting candles for justice, and turning off our lights.

You can cling to hope too. Because in the darkness, you can cling to anything. You can believe in legend and lore, in ghost and God, in dignified and demonic, and no one will know. You can hide from choosing, feeling, saying, living.

No one can see you, and the darkness is your friend.

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